


The Cult of the Claw

by Cloudiana



Series: Full Moon Fever [7]
Category: She-Ra and the Princesses of Power (2018)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Catra is She-Ra, Alternate Universe - Werewolf, Best Friend Squad (She-Ra), Crimson Waste (She-Ra), F/F, Magicat Catra (She-Ra), Magicats (She-Ra), Princess Catra (She-Ra), Werewolf Adora, Werewolf Culture
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-11
Updated: 2021-03-15
Packaged: 2021-03-18 07:48:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,458
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29979675
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cloudiana/pseuds/Cloudiana
Summary: After months on the run from the Horde and the Rebellion, Adora joins her former enemies to seek answers about her past in the Crimson Waste. Joining her are Catra, seeking answers of her own about She-Ra and the lost kingdom of Halfmoon; Glimmer, still wary of the former Horde Captain; and Bow, who hopes to get through this adventure without letting anyone killing each other.But the desert is full of many kinds of ghosts, ones that will test their fragile alliance. And no one could have guessed where this journey would lead them.
Relationships: Adora & Bow & Catra & Glimmer (She-Ra), Adora/Catra (She-Ra)
Series: Full Moon Fever [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2045827
Comments: 81
Kudos: 95





	1. Adora Alone

Adora’s heart pounded as she raced, half-shifted, through the undergrowth, Hunters at her heels. The pair stumbled across her while she was foraging. It was just her luck. Three days on the run from the Horde, sleeping in trees and scavenging what she could, and she gets cornered by Brightmoon Hunters. And of course they recognized her even with the civilian clothes she got from Catra.  
  
As she cursed her own bad luck, she bounded over a large root and landed in a patch of leaves. **Snap!** Her hind leg exploded with pain, caught in a trap. Its silver jaws snapped, crunching against her tendons. Adora slammed into the cold Fall ground, skidding a few feet before the chain stopped her tumble.  
  
Any more pressure and the bone might crack. She writhed in wolf-form before changing back. Pushing past the pain, she reached for the trap, but when she gripped the jaws, the burn was too much to bear. She flopped back on her side.  
  
The Beast would have ripped the stake from the ground, called in backup, and hauled the Hunters back to the Fright Zone for daring to cross her path, but Adora was exhausted. She was still recovering from the wounds she received escaping the Horde on the last full moon and protecting Catra from Shadow Weaver’s conjured hounds. She hadn’t had a full meal in three days, and she had barely slept more than a few hours at a time in the week leading up to the Princess Prom mission. Her healing factor could only do so much in the face of that much punishment.  
  
So when the Hunters caught up with her seconds later, all she could do was put up her hands. The human jabbed the silver tip of their spear under chin. “So,” they lilted menacingly. “This is the Beast of the Horde.” Their werewolf partner, a small, black wolf bared its fangs at her. “Honestly, Rufus, I wasn’t expecting her to be such a runt.”  
  
Adora growled. “I’m not a ru—“ a swift kick to the gut cut off her rebuttal. She sputtered for air.  
  
“Save it for the Queen,” Rufus grunted as he shifted back. “The Runt’s got a lot to answer for, doesn’t she Flint?”  
  
Flint stroked their close-cropped brown beard. “Aye, she does,” they replied. “Probably why we have orders to bring her in alive.” They grinned and shared a knowing look with their partner. “No lethal force authorized.” They pulled a knife from their belt and tossed it to Rufus, now crouched beside her. “Though, of course, you didn’t have any such qualms when you attacked our squad three years ago, did you Runt?”  
  
Adora couldn’t get enough air to respond.  
  
“No,” Flint finished. “You didn’t.” The mirth vanished from their face. “Lost a lot of friends that night. Good ones.” Then, they laughed darkly. “Rufus, isn’t amazing how the word ‘alive’ encompasses so many states of being?”  
  
Rufus laughed back, tapping the knife against her shin just above the trap’s jaws. “Indeed it is, Flint. And isn’t it a shame that the Beast was so desperate to escape justice she took _drastic_ measures to extricate herself from this trap before our arrival?”  
  
“Good thing we found her passed out so soon after the fact—“ Flint continued.  
  
“And still managed to haul her back to Brightmoon alive!” Rufus concluded. “ _Barely!_ ” As they laughed again, Adora felt her vision go grey. “I’ll break the bone," he said. "You can do the rest.” She screwed her eyes shut, but it didn’t drown out the cruel laughter. She braced for the first strike. If she had any luck at all, between the exhaustion, empty stomach, and pain, she would pass out after a few strikes and be spared the worst of it, but Adora knew she wasn’t that lucky, and didn’t deserve to be.  
  
She gasped when she heard the first thwack, but then . . . no pain. It hadn’t hit her. “What do you think you are doing?” A new voice yelled. Adora opened her eyes and glanced over her shoulder. Rufus was flat on his back, nursing a head bump. His assailant, a colorfully dressed old woman with enormous glasses, was already brandishing her broom at Flint. “Mara promised to help Madam Razz with berry-picking after she escaped,” she explained in a threatening manner. “She’s already late . . . or early. Razz always gets those mixed up.”  
  
_Oh good._ Adora thought. _I did pass out. Lucky me._  
  
“Mara dearie,” the pain-hallucination said sweetly. “Here, let Broom help you out of that.” She jammed the handle of her broom into the trap and pried the jaws open. The sharp string followed by a rush of relief let Adora know that she was very conscious. As she pulled her leg free, it wasn’t clear who was more confused: her or the Hunters.  
  
“Here, Mara,” Razz said reaching into her basket. “Razz brought some bandages. I keep telling you, you can’t fix everything by yourself, dearie.” Adora briefly wondered if this woman was in a position to give competent medical assistance, but her pant leg was already soaked below the shin. The trap hadn’t hit any arteries, but she couldn’t afford to be picky.  
  
As Razz worked, the Hunters huddled. Adora overheard their nervous conversation.  
  
“I mean the hair is one thing, but where would she have gotten the clothes? Plus, I’ve only seen that collar scar on Horde prisoners.” Flint whispered. “Now that I think about it, wasn’t the Beast older too? Bigger and like . . . scarier?”  
  
“I mean we only saw her that one full moon,” Rufus admitted. “But didn’t the Beast wear a shock collar? And why did she run? What if she is the Beast, Flint? We can’t just let her—“  
  
“Oh sure, Rufus,” Flint groaned. “Maybe the Beast — by cosmic coincidence — happens to look exactly like this woman’s granddaughter, a random feral who just escaped from a Horde prison camp. Or maybe—“  
  
“Ooooo. We’re in trouble.” Rufus gulped. “Big trouble when Juliet finds out about this.”  
  
“No!” Flint said fiercely, pulling something from his belt. “We’re in trouble IF Juliet finds out.” Rufus nodded. Adora tried to warn Razz, but before she could say anything, Flint turned around and started to speak, their best public relations smile plastered on their face.  
  
“We assure you,” they began, all bravado gone. “The Brightmoon Hunters are deeply troubled by the events that happened earlier today.”  
  
“Mistakes were made,” Rufus agreed. “Not by anyone in particular mind, but you know mistakes.”  
  
“Indeed,” Flint continued. “We deeply value our connections with the feral community, and while we conduct a thorough investigation into the conduct that may or may not have partially contributed to these unfortunate events, we hope that you ladies will keep this to yourselves.” They tossed a handful of coins into her lap. “That should cover any expenses I hope.”  
  
The wolf looked at the measly sum. She was Force Captain Adora; the Beast: feared planet-wide, second only to Lord Hordak himself, and commander of the largest military force in Etherian history; and these two thought they could threaten to cut her leg off and then buy her silence with a few coins. The sad thing was, they were right.  
  
She pocketed the coins and nodded to the Hunters. “Fantastic. Now, you and yer grannie are free to—“ Razz swiped the wallet out of their hands while they were waving them off.  
  
“There,” she said cheerily. “Now we take the bribe!” She pulled Adora up on her good leg with one arm. _Does she pick berries or cannon balls?_ The wolf thought. “Here Mara, Broom can help.” She handed her the staff bristles-up. It made for a surprisingly good crutch.  
  
After a few miles of walking in silence, punctuated by some rambling from Razz, Adora’s guilt took over. “Uh ma’am,” she said, nervously. “Thanks for your help back there, but I think you made a mistake.”  
  
“You’re right, Mara,” the old woman replied, ducking out of the bushes with a handful of blueberries. “Madam Razz should have demanded a bigger bribe. Rebels attacking you! Pah! After everything you’ve done for them. Good thing I was there to give 'em some Razzle Dazzle, eh?.”  
  
Adora shook her head. “No, they should be attacking me,” she admitted. “I’m an enemy of Brightmoon. I‘m part of the people fighting them. Or I was. Now I’m—“ Adora didn’t know. The Horde had been everything to her— her home, her goals, her allies, and her best shot at getting justice. She’d had a purpose, a mission, and a clear path to accomplishing it. Now, she didn’t even know which direction she was limping in. “I don’t know—“  
  
“Ahhh,” Razz sighed sadly, interrupting her. “I didn’t know it was so early, Mara. You just left them didn’t you?” Before Adora could say anything, she put a comforting hand on her back. “I’m sorry. This is always a tough time for you, I know.”  
  
Adora pulled away, limping further down the road. “You don’t know anything about me, lady,” she muttered, angrily. “You don’t even know my name.”  
  
Razz followed in silence for a few minutes. “I can’t remember if I told you already,” she said a bit too slyly for the wolf’s liking. “But Adora goes through just the same thing as you in her day.” Adora was grateful that Broom was sturdy, otherwise she might have collapsed from shock. “And do you know what Adora does?”  
  
“Uhh,” was about all she could manage in response. Was this a long con to get the bounty herself? Was Mara some other Horde deserter? Or maybe Adora was just hearing things due to the hunger, exhaustion, and blood-loss. _Might as well play along_ , she thought. “No,” she sighed. “What does Adora do?”  
  
“Well,” Razz replied. “She doesn’t just listen to whatever advice the first old lady she runs into gives her; that’s for sure! No, Adora doesn’t give up. She remembers what she started fighting for and fights for _that_ , not for _Them_. Even if she’s the only one; and you know, she isn’t alone for long. Not after she joins the Rebels.”  
  
Adora started blankly at the old woman for a moment, then started giggling. It hurt too much to laugh. Nothing made sense, but why should it. Nothing in her life did. She was too tired to do anything but embrace that fact for an afternoon. “That’s—that’s pretty good advice, ma’am” she admitted. “This Adora of yours has the right idea, but I don’t think I’m going to join the Rebellion.”  
  
“Obviously not, Mara” Razz agreed. “You can’t join the Rebellion if you haven’t started it yet.”  
  
Adora laughed, ignoring the pain. “Oh right,” she said through the spasms. “Of course.” She was gonna start the Rebellion. That made way more sense!  
  
“And you can’t do it on an empty stomach! We make pie, then you get yourself a ship. I think one crashed a few miles from my cottage . . . or it will crash. Razz can't remember which.”  
  
As they continued along the path, Adora decided of all the people she could have come across in the woods, she was glad it was perhaps the one person who didn’t want to kill or maim her. All in all, if her pies were better than her memory, this was the luckiest break she’d had in . . . five? ten years? Still, this woman really was out of her mind if she thought Adora was ever going to join the Rebellion.  
  
**~~~~~~Seven Months Later~~~~~~**  
  
As the sun sunk below the horizon, the rousing hoots and howls of the assembled werewolves reach a peak. “Alright mutts,” a tall purple woman called from atop a pyre that would soon be a blazing bonfire. “Y’all know the rules, but for any pups just joining us: if yer part of gang, then you ain’t once you step in the ring.” She gestured to the stones outlining an area the size of a simulator room. “Once we light this thing, it’s no weapons, no blood, no outside beefs. Course, we ain’t the Packs,” a cheer went up among the crowd. “So, you wanna transform and get a little rowdy, go ahead. Now,” she pulled out a lighter. “Let’s get this started!”  
  
Just as the sun disappeared from view, and the half moon became the brightest thing in the sky, Huntara, leader of the feral wolves of the Crimson Wastes, leapt from the pyre and tossed the lighter in. Even from the outskirts of the ring, Adora felt the wave of heat wash over her as the fireball erupted into the Black night sky. Cheers of “Free Ferals!” “Screw the Packs!” went up with it.  
  
Her first bonfire— as she had learned — was supposed to be a right of passage for a young werewolf. Not that these wolves were interested in Pack traditions (and, Adora agreed with them for her own reasons), but part of her still thought this was a moment to be savored. Most Pack bonfires happened on New Moons, bringing everyone together at their weakest to protect one another. Packs announced marriages, introduced children, and settled disputes on neutral ground. Out in the Wastes though, ferals gathered on Half Moons, and things tended to get wilder.  
  
She felt excited just being around more werewolves than she’d seen in her life. There was something electric about it.  
  
On any other night, she would have mingled: carve some roast off a stick at one of the food carts here; browse the wares at the Magicat caravan there; listened for intel on the Horde’s operations from the shifty-looking wolves near the outskirts. She could have made a nice, productive night of it, but there was other business to attend to.  
  
“Did you get all that _Mara_?” A voice from behind her accosted, spitting out her cover name like it had an aftertaste. The strength of the scorn in her tone rivaled the heatwave from the fireball. “I know the concept of a neutral-zone is something you’ve struggled with in the past, so let me know if you need the big words dumbed down.”  
  
Adora turned to face the Princess of Brightmoon, pink hair covered partially by a black hood. The cloak concealed her royal robes as well, but her withering glare was on full display. “Well as long as you aren’t planning on smuggling in any magic weapons or assaulting me like you did at the Ball,” she replied with equal venom. “Then I don’t think we’ll have any trouble, Princess.”  
  
On any other night in the last year and change, Adora would’ve lunged for her throat; and the Princess would be midway through throwing a sparkly punch to her jaw. They had been enemies for a long time. Deep down, both knew they still were. Still, neither of them made a move.  
  
Because ex-Force Captain Adora; the Beast: feared planet-wide, second only to Lord Hordak himself, and one-time commander of the cruelest military force in Etherian history had allied with the Rebellion.

And they had a job to do tonight.


	2. All Around the Bonfire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Catra listens to some rumors about the Lone Wolf as she plots to smooth things over with the Rebels.

Catra glanced around the bonfire, taking in the sights, smells, and sounds. This was her kind of place. As She-Ra, she had attended a few Pack bonfires on behalf of the Rebellion. When they were rebuilding the Princess Alliance, reforging the friendship between Brightmoon and the wolves was a key part of their efforts. While she had enjoyed herself there —once she finally accepted that everyone cheering for her wasn’t being sarcastic that is— all the traditions and formalities grated on her. Especially since they all expected She-Ra to already be familiar with them. 

Everyone expected a lot from She-Ra, Catra had discovered.

The ferals had no such problems. They skipped all the ceremony and went straight to the fun part. The gathering had already split into smaller sub-parties. Old friends clapped each other on the back. Moonshiners with barrels branded with names like “Feral’s Fire” “Shattered Sword” and “Slipping Sands” sold drinks, the barkers drawing small crowds with their offerings. A hundred or so wolves clustered around a makeshift stage, where a band was warbling out a tune on jury-rigged electric guitars. Given how many were dancing and singing along, Catra assumed it was a folk song, and a well-known one.

_Farewell, my fair Dianans._

_Now My sisters fare thee well._

_It breaks my heart,_

_That we must part_

_But here I dare not dwell._

_The traitor’s brand is on my brow_

_And my hands are stained with gore._

_So I must roam in future years_

_Throughout Etheria’s shores.”_

_Even now the price is on my head,_

_And bloodhounds on my trail._

_All for the sake of gaining gold,_

_Our freedoms they assail!_

As they broke into the chorus, Catra shifted her attention to the conversation happening close by. “And then, She-Ra turns to the Queen,” an outback-accented brunette slurred to the group gathered by a recently tapped keg. “And she says, ‘Angie, babe—“

“Hey,” one griped in between gulps. “H-how do ya know about all this? You weren’t there.”

Another slapped him on the back of his head. “Idiot. Her brother’s girlfriend’s sister is a Hunter or whatever. Go on Luanne, what did She-Ra say?”

“And she says to the Queen,” the wolf continued, lowering her voice to sound tougher. “‘All due respect your majesty, but I don’t need any Hunters to babysit me. I’m going after the Beast solo.’” The gang oo’ed at the gossip. “Yeah. Mano e Mano, one on one, nothing between her and her prey— that’s how She-Ra does it! It’s just her style.”

“That’s so intense, Lu,” drawled one. “One time, my cousin in Thaymor saw She-Ra turn back a whole Horde strike force single-handedly.”

“That’s nothing.” A curly-haired wolf responded. “I saw her take down a whole fleet of Horde cruisers out in Salineas. My sister set up a whole scavenging business around it out Kelper’s Keep. She’s got a hundred workers on the payroll, working sunup to sundown, and she’s still pulling up iron. It’s been a year! I keep telling her to run for mayor; she rebuilt that town.”

“My turn!” A huge, burly wolf shouted as he slammed the keg. The crowd fell silent to listen. “One time, the Horde poisoned this tree in Plumeria, and She-Ra healed it!” No response. The wolf cleared his throat. “It was a big tree,” he offered, deflated.

“You ever think about how weird it is that those two like, knew each other?” Luanne said to break the awkward pause. “The Beast and She-Ra?”

“Oh yeah!” gasped another with a mullet and studded denim jacket. “You know I always heard the Beast would like, always show up where She-Ra was. Maybe the Beast was like — her teacher orboss or something in the Horde. And she was trying to get her back under her control, so she could overthrow Hordak.”

“No way, Mario,” said one wolf with questionable, bleached-white bangs. “The Beast was a Real Feral. Like, a genuine, old-school, ‘always a wolf’ kind of feral. They sent her out to hunt She-Ra down because she could smell magic. The Horde found her as a pup and did a bunch of freaky experiments on her,” the wolf took another draught. “They locked her up in a cage most of the time, kept her hungry, and then only let her out when she was desperate for blood. That’s why they had the shock collar on her.”

Mario rubbed his own scar. “If her shock collar was half as strong as the one they slapped on me in the mining camp,” he said. “They wouldn’t have needed to starve her.” A couple of wolves with the same scar nodded in agreement. “Of course, they kept us all underground, so we couldn’t get enough moonlight to transform. Once the Lone Wolf busted us out, even that collar couldn’t keep me down!” He raised his drink to the approving shouts of a few other ex-prisoners.

“And she wasn’t a Full Feral,” Luanne laughed derisively. “I saw her in human-form once— scar and all. She was just some standard-issue, blonde, jerk Force Captain.Only Wolf I ever saw on their side, and I thought something was off about her—something about the eyes, I don’t know— but a regular wolf. She led a convoy between Horde forts a year or two back. Stopped by my gang’s hideout to interrogate some grey tomcat about some old Magicat stories. I think her name was Adelaide or something like that.”

“It was Alexa, you doofus,” Mario chimed back in. “But she’s right. Alexa was the Beast, and she was Hordak’s right hand for a while. And rumor has it, after She-Ra and the Alliance raided the Fright Zone and rescued half the Prom crowd, Hordak was so mad at her she had to vamoose outta there quick.” The gang laughed. “My source in the Horde, er—Lauren or Lexie or something, said she took the sudden change in circumstance as a chance to chase after a girl she was crushing on in the Rebellion! That’s why no one’s seen her since.” Catra didn’t notice the sideways glance Bow shot at her.

“Not the best time to make a declaration of love,” Luanne joked. “But you know what they say: ‘you gotta shoot your shot while you’ve got a shot to shoot.’ Might as well risk it before Hordak has the chance to turn your bones into a four poster bed or something.” 

The others hollered. “Ooh! Ooh! Ohh!” A newcomer interjected, so excited that she spilled her drink into the sand. “What if! What if that crush was the Lone Wolf! And now, they’re partners. Like, the Beast plans the raids and gives her all the intel, then the Lone Wolf shows up and wrecks shop.” A few cackled in approval. “Yeah,” she continued. “I bet they had a real intense, slow burn thing. Enemies to friends to . . .” She elbowed her neighbors vigorously. The gang cackled like cadets after lights out.

“Aww yeah!” Luanne jumped back in. “The Lone Wolf is a cold stoic with a vendetta against the Horde. The Beast is a fiery hothead who just got disillusioned. They’re on the run from both sides, so they have to share a den . . . and there’s! only! one! bed!” A half dozen wolves howled heartily in delight as she punctuated each word by slapping the keg.

“Give me seventy-five thousand words on that, Lu!” a lanky green-eyed wolf called from a bench by a food cart. “I know a gal in romance publishing. Whadaya say? A meeting with the head of Mermystery Publishing for a ten percent cut of the final gross?”

“Don’t listen to my fiancé! She’s a damn racketeer.” Her partner called out, interlacing their hands and planting a kiss on her cheek. “I can get you more for eight percent!” 

“No! I’m telling you” White Bangs interjected when the hoots died down. “They’re the same person.”

“Yeah,”Mario agreed. “Lone Wolf is a feral that made good. Anyone who says otherwise was paid off by the Brightmoon Hunters. It’s bad enough that the Beast whooped their butts for so long; those mutts would never admit that some ex-Horde feral is doing their job than them.” Catra made a note of that. 

Years in the Horde taught her where to see patterns in factions. The wolves were right. Adora’s identity had become a political issue. Not an obvious one, but Catra knew that sometimes the most important battles happened around mess halls and water-coolers. 

Some ferals resented the Beast so much for what she did to their reputation, that they refused to believe she and the Lone Wolf were the same. Others, especially ex-prisoners with collar scars, preferred the version where the living weapon turned on her Horde masters. Some, like this wolf, hated the Hunters so much they just told whatever story made them look the worst.

For the Hunters and the more conservative Pack wolves, it was the opposite. The Beast had to be a complete monster, slayed by She-Ra in an epic duel, or silenced quietly by her wounds in some dark corner of the Woods. Likewise, to them, the Lone Wolf had to be someone else — a Hunter who’d lost their squadron to Horde artillery; a Pack wolf who’d lost everything to the Beast. The Lone Wolf had to be a tragic, fallen noble; a pillar of all the old traditions that the war had swept away.

Not that Catra had shared any of this opinion tracking with Adora. Knowing her, if the wolf started thinking about this at all she would disappear for three months and emerge with the most elaborate Venn diagram ever made.

“No! The Beast is a one-hundred percent, full feral science experiment” the wolf from before butted back in. “You know one of She-Ra’s titles is: The Beast Tamer? That’s what she did: tamed her. Wasn’t there an old story where She-Ra fixed a wolf who couldn’t shift back? Well, that’s what She-Ra did to make her become the Lone Wolf.”

“To be fair, that is kinda what happened,” Bow whispered. Catra glared back. “Which is a good thing! More allies are always good.”

“I didn’t tame her.” Catra muttered, leaning against the cart they were loitering by. “She just . . . decided to leave.” She still didn’t know what - after all that time, after so many chances to leave - made Adora decide to turn on the Horde and save her. In the back of her mind, a small, needling doubt whispered that she’d just lost it, because of the full moon, the stress, and whatever happened with Shadow Weaver. And now, she was stuck. 

Bow must have picked up on her doubts. He put an arm around her shoulder. “You’re right,” he said. “Everything she’s done since to fight the Horde, that’s all her too. She wouldn’t have reached out if she didn’t want to help.”

She keyed back into the conversation as a few wolves murmured in agreement, apparently still debating the same question. “You know, I do remember hearing that story once when my gang was doing security work for a caravan,” Luanne admitted. “But haven’t people seen the Lone Wolf in human form? Like that time she got caught rigging explosives on a New Moon in the Horde shipping yards?”

“Or that time she hijacked a supply transport and relieved the Siege of Seaworthy?” Called out another.

“Well,” White Bangs explained, clearly improvising. “That’s true, but just because She-Ra helped her shift back doesn’t mean she knows how to be a person yet. That’s why she stays in the Woods and works alone. It’s all instinct. She focuses on fighting the Horde because she wants revenge, and hates the camps because that’s where they made her. You know, with all the freaky experiments. That’s what they’re doing to the wolves in all those labor camps— trying to make another one. Hordak has this whole program set up to make super soldiers, like She-Ra.”

“Hordak didn’t make She-Ra you blithering fool,” an older Magicat hissed from her nearby cart. “He stole her from Halfmoon before the Vanishing. The Wicked One raised her to be his Right Hand, the Tip of the Horde’s Spear, but her spirit was too strong to be fooled by his lies. When he presented her with the Sword of Protection, the spirit of Sekmet entered her heart, and she broke free from the Fright Zone. And someday, she shall unite the Runestones, return to the Fright Zone, and overthrow the Tyrant! Just as Cyra once did after her exile in the desert.”

Some of the wolves rolled their eyes. So, this woman was a staple of these things. “What about the Beast, Cleo? Is she the Lone Wolf? Or not?”

“Ah, well,” Cleo explained. “First, you must understand that Set the Jackal is a complex figure. He was full of hate when he fought for power, but when Apep threatens Ra, he joins with Bast in the battle upon the Sun Bark. Thus also, with this Beast who he has incarnated as — her heart burns for spite and revenge as much as justice and protection. So, the slow burn romance between the Beast and She-Ra? Very mythologically accurate. I am available for beta-reading if anyone—“

“Ok,” a ginger Magicat called as she burst out from the cart. “Grandma Cleo, how about you go and help Mom with the boar butt roast? I’ll deal the customers.” She walked away grumbling. “Sorry about her. Ever since the Lost Princess returned, she can get a little overexcited whenever someone mentions She-Ra.” Catra pulled her hood up higher. She didn’t need any attention right now. Thankfully, the other Magicat hadn’t noticed her, “Now, any of you rogues want a Hair of the Dog potion? Drink all you want and wake up hangover free!”

As the wolves clamored to pay for a shot of the potion, Catra groaned at the mention of her alter ego. There was a reason she was going by Cyra tonight, partly inspired by Adora’s decision to use a byname. She thought it was a good sign that Adora picked _that_ name. She probably didn’t remember all her weird dreams, not since she got better at suppressing them, but Cyra and Mara were friends . . . usually. 

Much as Catra was still pleasantly floored every time she got a little hero worship, she didn’t need any Magicats in the Waste realizing She-Ra, the Lost Princess Of Halfmoon, was in their midst. The remaining Magicats were worse than the Packs in terms of expectations. At least the wolves didn’t expect her to have an opinion on all the cultural issues, social disputes, and blood rivalries of a lost kingdom she knew next to nothing about. At least they didn’t treat her like the key to recovering everything they’d lost after the Vanishing of Halfmoon. 

Well, maybe if this mission went well, that last one wouldn’t be a problem anymore. Glimmer had stormed off on her own to “get a few things straight with Mara” a few minutes ago. As long as she could keep her friends from— beneath the rowdy hum and crackle of the crowd, her sensitive ears picked up on an argument. She turned to the archer beside her. 

“Bow,” She said just loud enough for him to hear. “She found her.” His eyes widened and darted around, stopping when he locked in on a cloaked figure on a hillside, squaring off against a blonde in a red flannel. “Could you—“ before she could say ‘keep them from killing each other,’ he was halfway there.

Catra pinched the bridge of her nose and sighed. Not five minutes into their new . . . association? truce? alliance? and Adora was already making things difficult. Sure, Sparkles wasn’t helping, but she had a right to be distrustful. The whole accidental kidnapping thing after Plumeria a few months back had really freaked her out, and Catra understood that feeling all too well. Even if, as she explained, the giant furry dork really did think she was helping.

Catra might have taken more umbrage with the Princess’ whole “throw her in a cage” plan if Adora hadn’t chickened out of facing them all the next morning, instead escorting Catra to the tree-line and then booking it back to her den. Besides that night, Glimmer had kept the promise she made after Catra admitted to helping her after she escaped: No active pursuit. As long as Adora stayed in her own lane and didn’t hurt anyone, they wouldn’t try and track her down, but if they did run into her, then it was Glimmer’s call. After everything Adora had done, Catra was honestly surprised Glimmer accepted those terms. Then again, her friends were still surprising her with how . . . understanding they could be.

Catra knew it must be hard to switch from years of mutual revenge-frenzy to Best Friends overnight. But it hadn’t been a night since Adora discovered that the Rebellion hadn’t burned her village; that was months ago. Sparkles also had several months to get used to the idea of Adora not wanting to kill them all, burn her kingdom, and throw a parade on the ashes; and, she was still reluctant to accept it. 

This wasn’t because she liked her or anything, the princess reassured herself. On her own, Catra thought, it was only a matter of time before Adora’s luck ran out and she found herself on the wrong side of a Horde cell. Then it was off to Beast Island, or worse. Just as a practical matter, as an unbiased, objective Rebel commander, she needed the wolf on their side, and in a place where she was the most useful to them . . . and safe.

The last few months of weekly check-ins by the Crystal Castle had been better than the scattered reports of her raids against the Horde which had been better than fighting her on a day-to-day basis. Hopefully, this little excursion would be a good team building exercise for the wolf. 

Ever since Adora had learned that the wolves who burned her village were hiding out in the desert and asked to join the Best Friends Squad on their mission to the Crimson Waste to track that Serena signal (and maybe also do some research on Halfmoon, and prove that Shadow Weaver didn’t know what she was talking about, not that Catra was worried) Catra had been trying to line up as many rats in a row as she could. 

If Adora could work out her issues with Glimmer and vice versa out here where there was little chance of causing much collateral damage, then it was a small leap to getting her to work more closely with the Alliance. Well, not a small leap, exactly, but Glimmer was still the biggest holdout. Catra had been keeping a close side eye on gaging opinions on the ex-Force Captain. Back in the Horde, she used to do the same thing to track which officers were on the rise and which were about to get reassigned to meat shield duty on the front lines. She set up a pretty profitable betting pool for it too.

Mermista had been more positive ever since Adora stopped She-Ra from skewering Sea Hawk when the disk was driving her nuts, though quote “Not like I care one way or the other” unquote. Sea Hawk didn’t get a vote, but he brought up getting saved every time she was mentioned; and, as an honorary member of the Salt Dogs (the Packs that tended to roam near Salineas) his good word carried some weight. Given his track record for arson, Catra wasn’t surprised to learn he threw great bonfires.

Perfuma didn’t exactly like the woman who conquered half of her kingdom, but she’d been the one to propose ending the active hunts for Adora months ago. Catra could never figure her out, but she seemed on the pro side out of professional obligation at least. Netossa and Spinerella had been uncomfortable fighting Adora ever since they did a little mental math after Catra mentioned that they were the same age and realized she’d been sent on raids since she was fourteen. They were more than happy to hear about her desertion. 

Frosta was still pretty cold on the subject because of what happened at Princess Prom, but Catra could tell she was warming up to the idea. It certainly helped that being a gruff, elusive vigilante with a cool name was just about the best way to earn redemption in her twelve-year old eyes. 

Hopefully, once she got comfortable around the Rebels, Adora could go and get all her trauma sorted out by Perfuma’s magic. 

At least, that’s how Catra assumed that whole ‘therapy’ thing worked. The hippie princess had never convinced Catra to do more than a little meditation, and even then the second any chanting started she was out of there.

As Bow escorted the two, in between like a human shield of infinite patience, Catra just hoped they could make it through the night without a fight. The band kicked up in sound as the three approached.

_But if they cross and check my path_

_For all my pain and strife_

_I’ll give them cause to rue the day_

_Their mothers gave them life_

_I’ll cut them all down one-by-one_

_Across our planet wide._

_And leave their bodies bleaching_

_Upon the Woodlands’ side_

_A prey to every prowling bird_

_The hawk and carrion crow!_

_It’s thus I’d serve each cowardly cur_

_Who caused our overthrow!_

“Hey Mara.” Catra savored the blush that triggered, even if she knew it was only skin deep. If she was really interested . . . well, she’d had plenty of chances to make it clear. Catra had given up hope that wanted that way. She just wanted to got back to settling for being friends.

“Ca—Cyra,” the blonde wolf responded some lingering uncertainly. Even with months of their weekly meetings, this was the first time Adora had been outnumbered by Rebels. “You found it here ok?”

“Yeah,” she replied. “Not many giant parties in the middle of the desert.”

“Not that your ‘map’ helped,” Glimmer griped. “I swear that doodle lead us straight to the quicksand fields.”

“I was trying to be helpful, Princess” she growled back. “I know you Rebels are bad with directions, so I wanted to make sure you got here. Unlike that time in Dryl where your forces got turned around so much they didn’t even show up for the battle.”

“It was an attempt,” Bow soothed, palms raised. “We’re all here for the same mission. Let’s just focus on that.” They glared at each other.

“Speaking of,” Catra said to cut the tension. “Let’s get this started. Is your source here?”

Adora nodded. “Yeah. Huntara. She was the one who lit the bonfire,” she said. “It took some negotiating with a certain. . .” She gestured vaguely as she tried to find the right words. “Former work acquaintance to find this out, but Huntara keeps all the gangs in check out here. Knows the Waste inside and out. If there’s anyone who can give you intel on First Ones ruins or Halfmoon stuff, it’s her.” 

“Any chance she knows anything about the Cult?” Bow asked. Adora jolted like she’d been shocked. She eyed him suspiciously. “This mission isn’t just about us,” he explained. “We’re here to help you too.”

Her eyes narrowed, and she stared at the ground. “Well actually . . .” She signed, pausing as if deciding whether to share. “If my source got it right, and they usually do. . .” she looked up. “The Cult turned her.” Her eyes wrinkled shut. “Just like they turned me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The plot thickens! Next time, the gang travels deeper into the desert, Bow tries to keep the peace, and Catra discovers more about her past.
> 
> Thanks for reading! I hope you had as much fun reading as I did writing this chapter. Tried to add a bit more humor in this one, so if any lines got a laugh out of you, it would make my day to hear which ones in the comments! The song is to the tune of “Farewell to Greta” in case you’re curious.
> 
> Stay safe out there! If your clocks got set forward, I hope the adjustment is quick. The first week sucks, but the late sunset will be worth it!

**Author's Note:**

> Here we go! Thanks for reading! If you had fun, leave a kudos or a comment. All of them are amazing and will spur me on as I experiment with a longer story format. Feedback, speculation, theories, etc are always welcome. Thanks in advance!


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